


Change of Heart

by GoldenSnowflake



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:52:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenSnowflake/pseuds/GoldenSnowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is reaching for something that suddenly, after an ongoing battle so fierce that is has claimed the entirety of their focus for years, has simply turned and walked away. And he didn't know how important it was until he'd lost it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Heart

Sexy.

The only word that embodies him.

Slender and tall; lean and muscular.

Dark hair and amber eyes.

He's beautiful.

He is quieter now in adulthood, more sure of himself. His stride exudes confidence. People look up when he enters a room.

And Zim is falling in love with him.

He doesn't know how it happened – maybe it had something to do with the change as the human matured. He has never watched something develop as rapidly as Earth people do, and oh, how he had changed.

Their battles are different now – for the first time, Zim is afraid. Dib is tall and strong and wiry, and the musky smell of sweat and anger is harsher now.

Zim avoids him. Shapes his plans around the forbidden zone that is Dib's street. He stares hard at the glop they serve him at lunch and tingles with something unheard of in Irken culture – anxiety – at the thought of the teen glaring from across the room.

He thinks that he is crazy. He takes a free test online and it says he's only 30% insane. He thinks he is ill. He runs his symptoms through an Earth illness database. "You are not sick," his computer drawls when he clicks SEE MY RESULTS. "You are GAY for your ENEMY!"

"FOOLISH piece of technology," Zim yowled, horror prickling the hollows of his cheeks. But the ache of dread in his stomach grew greater. He was terrified that it was true.

He knew it was true.

Dib still comes over, he knows it. He finds probes, cameras. And it makes Zim's heart flutter with nervousness. He knows he's being watched. He can't stand it.

The mission causes constant anxiety. He can't conquer without facing Dib. He can't avoid the human without failing to do his duty.

Zim feels weak and stupid.

Zim feels useless.

He sleeps more now than ever to combat the stress that throbs in his shoulders. And in his sleep he has begun to hallucinate – to "dream."

There, Dib is thick in his mind.

Zim feels the rake of nails down his stomach and the grind of human arousal inside him. He feels his eyes sting with tears of pain and hears whimpers of pleasure spilling through his pink, gritted teeth. He is enveloped in the boy's overwhelming heat, and the teeth digging into his neck make him shake in need and fear. And he can't get enough of it.

The Irken wakes, panting and moaning and uttering things in Irken that shame him. He is frightened and bewildered. He simply cannot understand it.

His race would be horrified. Reproduction is mechanical; mating is obsolete. It is the ultimate failure for one's body to overcome his mission. It is rarely even covered these days in the academy.

Zim blames the filthy ball of dirt. Its people live in flux between wanting money and wanting to procreate. They are selfish and angry and destructive. They obsess over mating and emulating it in any way possible. They buy it and sell it. It permeates every element of human life, and is impossible to avoid.

It has nothing to do with the fact that every adolescent human at skool has a companion. It has nothing to do with the fact that the underground labs are cold and the buzzing web of wiring and megabytes is agonizingly lonely and dark. And it certainly has nothing to do with the fact that the little invader has always been curious as to what it would feel like to be wrapped in strong, warm arms.

Invaders do not care what it would feel like to be on the opposite end. They do not wonder how it feels to be dominated by another. They do not care that fifty percent of every invasion is on the losing end.

Or… at least, they shouldn't.

Never mind that Dib Membrane has grown into something so harmoniously perfect in bone structure and bodily proportion that he's almost horridly beautiful. It shouldn't matter that his eyelashes are thick and his jaw is square and his smile can make people weak in the knees.

The characteristics of the Dib are irrelevant to the mission and to his level of significance.

When Dib rammed Zim into the wall a few weeks ago after managing to deactivate his PAK legs, the alien couldn't hide the snarl of horror as he remembered the dream he'd had the night before. By the time he'd gotten his wits about him and started spitting insults, it was too late. The human had noticed his hesitation.

It had been all he could do to drive the human back – to slam the door in his face and hold it shut long enough for the locks to whir into place.

And now the only thing worse than the Dib becoming normal – becoming accepted by his race – has happened.

He knows.

The evidence that Dib has picked up on the Irken's change of heart is in his very absence.

His sudden cease fire that has stretched impossibly for days. Weeks.

The tiny invader spits curses as he paces through the halls, claret eyes narrowed at every tiny shadow or nook that could possibly hide surveillance equipment. He cannot have the filthy Earth-boy watching him – recording his every sign of weakness.

He cannot let Dib hear the pleas he utters in his sleep. Ever.

It doesn't help that the human doesn't need him anymore to feel included. That Zim's soul focus, the manifestation of all he must destroy, no longer feels the same way about him.

The fact that he can no longer wholly claim the Dib-stink's attention makes him feel useless and expendable.

He is reaching for something that suddenly, after an ongoing battle so fierce that is has claimed the entirety of their focus for years, has simply turned and walked away.

He didn't know how important it was until he'd lost it.

The foolish, filthy little Earth-vermin walk the halls of the Hi Skool as if they are one another's property – icky little fingers laced together and eyes locked as if two opposing beams forming one laser. Stupid little needy things.

The invader can't understand their obsession with togetherness – with this strange, grown up kind of affection; with their need of assurance in the form of a strong body pressed against one's own.

And he cannot understand why it makes him feel a little smaller – a little less powerful every time he stands alone at his locker, absently clutching books on Earth-monkey fitness and primitive human math, watching adolescents hold each other like letting go would result in death; kiss each other like stopping would tear their hearts from their frames.

He cannot understand why he equates this primal, foolish pastime with victory – to happiness.

It makes no sense, to desperately want to be nestled against something as filthy and squirmy as a pathetic little human. But in his dreams, Dib is neither filthy nor squirmy: he is strong and warm and safe. He is the gateway to a kind of contentedness Zim has not felt since he was suspended in nutrient-rich fluid, swathed in darkness in an endless hallway.

Gir is staring up at him, his blue eyes wide and ever-innocent. "Master?"

Zim looks at his robot, his wide eyes tired and his antennae drooping.

"How come Big Head boy doesn't come around anymore?"

Zim stares wearily, opening his mouth to speak but feeling the words catch in his throat. His companion gazes up at him for a long time before turning back to the TV.

It's cold outside as Zim marches determinedly down the sidewalk. Gir watches out the window as he departs, face a silent blank. His master has never left him without instruction before.

The weather-human has predicted rain, and Zim believes him as he hurries across the street. His wig feels lopsided, but he keeps checking it and it's still on right – nothing feels the same now, he realizes, not even the uniform he has worn since before he could speak. Stupid filthy humans. Stupid smelly ball of love-obsessed dirt.

The invader holds his breath in his little lungs as he approaches the house he has fought for his life at so many times. His tiny gloved hand curls into a too-tight fist and he raises it, knocking three times.

The door is opened and Zim finds himself face to face with the human that has plagued his nightmares, both waking and sleeping, for as long as his life has had a purpose.

Slender and tall; lean and muscular. He towers over his enemy, gazing at him in surprise.

Dark hair and amber eyes captivate the invader momentarily – Zim hesitates, feeling the uncanny flutter in his chest.

Zim clenches his fists and prepares to speak.


End file.
